InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Sweetest Escape ❯ Toxic ( Chapter 2 )

Disclaimer: I don't own Inuyasha, Rumiko Takahashi does.

 

 

 

Author's Notes: Okay, so it was brought to my attention that Inuyasha doesn't scar. And the last chapter very clearly states that there were scars on him. Oops.

 

 

 

To amend my mistake, I'll just make it so that he heals faster than a human, but slower than a demon, so just play along like it would take a couple of days or so for his injuries to go away, instead of a couple of hours, okay? Thank you!

 

 

Read on! Review, too!

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2: Toxic

 

 

 

 

 

The man waited for all of the students filed into the classroom. He leaned against his desk, the tips of his fingers pressed together and tapping against his thin lips.

 

 

 

 

Inuyasha picked at the spiral binding of his notebook agitatedly. This was not a situation he was comfortable with. First, the desks were not in the customary rows that he'd come to rely on so much. Instead, they were set in a large circle, no doubt for the purpose of Socratic-like discussions, and enabling the teacher a generous amount of space to walk as he lectured. Either way, every person could see every other person's face, and that alone was the source of Inuyasha's discomfiture. Seating strategy here wouldn't help him.

 

 

 

 

The man hadn't bothered to check Inuyasha's schedule, instead shooing him away with a light flick of his wrist. As Inuyasha slid into a seat, he could heard the man chuckle softly as he flipped through a stack of papers, and the feeling of dread he'd gotten upon entering the classroom increased ten-fold.

 

 

 

 

Students settled themselves, surprisingly lacking the idle chatter than seems to accompany high school students wherever they go. No one spoke. No one laughed. No one rustled the papers of their binders excessively. No more than forty seconds after the bell had rung was every student in their seat, with books out, notebooks open to fresh pages, and holding pens or pencils poised for note-taking. They were all staring at the man, waiting for him to speak.

 

 

 

 

He entered the circle, taking slow, deliberate steps until he reached the center. His gaze floated over each student, eyes showing a sort of vague approval at each pupil's rapt attention on his actions. The man had a presence. A frightening, unnervingly compelling, and strangely commanding presence, but a presence all the same.

 

 

 

 

“Chikamatsu,” he said, suddenly turning to face Inuyasha. Inuyasha's head jerked. The other students eyed each other warily, apparently having not noticed him yet.

 

 

 

 

“…yes, Si—“

 

 

 

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tutted, wagging a single finger. “You will stand when you are spoken to in this class,” he instructed, jerking his four fingers up in a beckoning motion. Inuyasha slowly stood. He was exactly in the type of situation that made him want to vomit. Everyone was watching him, he was the center of attention, and from the looks of the teacher's face, he was about to be grilled. “There's a good boy,” the man said smoothly. He strolled leisurely to the opposite side of the circle to the one desk that was left empty. He picked up a red pen, and rubbed his thumb over it absently, his back still facing Inuyasha.

 

 

 

 

 

“I'm going to let you in on a little secret, Chikamatsu. I don't care what the dress code is in your other classes. I don't care what the handbook does or does not say. I don't allow hoods in my classroom.” He looked at the boy over his shoulder, a small smirk adorning his lips. “Take it off,” he commanded, voice low. Inuyasha floundered.

 

 

 

 

“But…but, Sir, I—“

 

 

 

 

“We wouldn't want to add another detention for insubordination, now would we?” the man asked, feigning innocence. “So take it off. Now.”

 

 

 

 

Inuyasha stalled for as long as he could. The other students were giving him incredulous looks, as if they couldn't fathom why any hood would be worth speaking against this teacher. He could see what they were thinking in their eyes. `Just take the hood off, New Kid! Please, just take it off! It's better than going against this guy, believe me!' they seemed to say. His stomach lurched. They wouldn't be offering that type of silent camaraderie in a moment.

 

 

 

 

He lifted a shaking hand, covered by the copious sleeves of his sweatshirt, and slowly slid the hood from his head. He could almost feel the shock of the class at the sight of the white ponytail whose length disappeared into his sweatshirt, and ears that poked up from behind the strip of cloth he'd used to tie his hair back, despite his every effort to flatten them into obscurity. They made no sound. There were no gasps, no murmurs of `Oh, Kami!' or anything of the like. There was only that tangible shift in the atmosphere, that palpable stigma that had suddenly dropped over all of them like an iron curtain.

 

 

 

 

The man looked him straight in the eye and smirked, a small chuckle escaping his lips. Inuyasha tried to convey all of the indescribably immense hatred he felt for the man in one look, tried to make him freeze from the absolute frigidness in his glare, but to no avail. His face turned unbearably hot, and he didn't need a mirror to know that his cheeks were almost fluorescent in their blush.

 

 

 

 

“Hm. How interesting,” the man said lightly, enunciating every syllable. He smiled. “Well. Since you're already up, why don't you answer a few questions for me, hm?”

 

 

 

 

“But I don't—“

 

 

 

 

“Humor me.” The man took a novel from a student's desk and flipped it open. He leaned his right hip against his desk. “The assignment was to read chapter 8, was it not?” he asked rhetorically. “Chikamatsu, why don't you give the class your thoughts on the tragic hero's descent into treachery?”

 

 

 

 

Inuyasha's eyes fell to the man's nametag, clipped from the pocket on his shirt, one he knew held the abhorred yellow slips. `Mr. Akuran,' he thought. `You fucking asshole.'

 

 

 

 

“Sir, I don't have—“

 

 

 

 

“No? Well, how about expounding on the theme of fate vs. free will throughout the first half of the book?”

 

 

 

 

“I haven't had a chance to pick up my—“

 

 

 

 

“Can you at least give us a motif? Perhaps a tiny bit of symbolism?” he pushed. It was obvious that the man was enjoying Inuyasha's complete mortification. The boy fell silent, unwilling to try and explain the situation anymore to only be cut off. His eyes fell to the floor, and his hands fisted the material of his jacket tightly. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Well, Chikamatsu, I must say, I'm at a loss for words. Let's see, you've gotten a detention within, what, your first ten minutes of stepping into the building, you've shown complete disregard for the rules of my classroom as well as blatant disrespect for my authority, and now, you aren't even prepared for today's discussion….I don't know what to say to you. You're off to a very bad start here at Daisuke,” the man admonished gently. He stood and made a mark on a small steno pad flipped to a clean page.

 

 

 

 

“Then again, I wouldn't expect a half breed to be competent enough to follow our conversation anyway,” he said breezily. “Sit,” he commanded icily, and Inuyasha promptly slid back into his chair, keeping his vision trained at the notebook in front of him. He had no doubt in his mind that by the end of the day, at least half the school would know what he was.

 

 

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

 

Inuyasha carried the cumbersome stack of thick textbooks in front of him, the bindings of the books pressed against his chest and stomach, aggravating the scars there. `Damn things aren't healing as quick as they normally do,' he thought, peeved as the corner of his pre-calculus book jabbed into a gouge. `Damn staff,' he thought darkly. `Damn school. Damn the whole thing to hell.'

 

 

 

 

He had planned to pick up the books at his lunch period, and then drop them off at the locker he'd been unable to visit as of yet. However, the wrench was thrown in that plan when he encountered ornery, plump woman in charge.

 

 

 

 

“Is it okay if I pick up my books?” he asked. She didn't look up. “Ma'am?” Again, there was no response. She simply continued to read her magazine article on `How to Bring out your inner Sex-Kitten', head propped up in her hands.

 

 

 

 

“Um…excuse me? Can I pick up—“ The woman reached with one hand under the desk and pulled out a folded index card, and set it in front of her magazine. Inuyasha bent to read the tiny message scrawled there. `Lunch Break. Back in fifty.' He sighed.

 

 

 

 

“You're kidding, right?” he said flatly. She didn't respond. “You're sitting right here! You're not even eating anythi—“ She reached back under the desk and pulled out a ridiculously jam-packed sub sandwich, and promptly peeled back the cellophane. Inuyasha could only stare as the woman took unbelievably large bites of her foul-smelling sub, and methodically chewed, as she continued to read.

 

 

 

 

“Okay…” he said slowly, pinching the top of the bridge of his nose exasperatedly. “Are you going to be open right after seventh period?” he asked. `Or do you have another sex article to tend to?' he thought. He was ignored. So that plan had been shot to hell.

 

 

 

 

He returned to the bookstore immediately after seventh period. The woman sent him an annoyed glare over the shoulder of the student she had been helping, and sighed briefly.

 

 

 

 

“Can I help you?” she drawled, tapping her pen impatiently after the other student had left.

 

 

 

 

“Books. For these classes,” Inuyasha said snippily. He'd run out of patience for this woman. He slid his schedule across to her.

 

 

 

 

“ID number?” she droned, clacking the keys of the computer. He stared at her.

 

 

 

 

“It's right there!” he exclaimed, pointing to the top of the schedule that held all of his information. She glanced down at the paper, and back up to him, shrugging. She input the information, and waddled up and down the various aisles of the vast room, taking her dear sweet time, and dropping the books down one by one on the counter in front of Inuyasha with a loud `WHACK!' Inuyasha anxiously watched the clock. He was going to be late to detention, and he was almost positive that being late to detention would end in yet another detention.

 

 

 

 

 

“There. You rip, damage, or lose them, you buy them,” she said in a deadpan voice.

 

 

 

 

“Fine,” he ground out, and struggled to get a good grip on the load as he exited the doors. He was already seven minutes late to the detention room, which turned out to be clear across campus. So, he decided to forgo dumping the books into his locker until after he'd served his sentence.

 

 

 

 

He'd been exactly right. He received another yellow slip for the following day after being in the room for only five minutes.

 

 

 

 

He'd also been right in his hunch. He was now infamous, as demonstrated by the boy who, in a ridiculously overly dramatic and loud stage whisper said to his neighbor, “That's him!” as soon as he got through the door. Chatter soon ensued as those who didn't know were filled in on Inuyasha's `stripping' in Lit & Comp class. Inuyasha sunk as low in his seat as he could, and concentrated for the remainder of the hour on getting caught up in his reading assignment.

 

 

 

 

 

As soon as he and the other ten detainees were released, Inuyasha rushed back to the main building, trying the doors. Locked. He let out a whispered curse. He could see a janitor waxing the tile floors.

 

 

 

 

He rapped insistently on the door with frozen knuckles, finally getting the man's attention. He pointed down at the stack of books he was struggling with, silently asking for entry. The man shook his head vehemently, pointing up at the clock that Inuyasha couldn't quite see.

 

 

 

 

 

“Please!” he shouted, positive that the man could hear him. Still, the man adamantly refused, and after a few minutes of Inuyasha gesturing at his stack of books, the man scoffed and pointedly turned his back, returning to his task. “Yeah, well, fuck you, too,” Inuyasha growled darkly.

 

 

 

 

His dad was going to kill him. It was already somewhere around three fifty. He had roughly ten minutes to get home on time, give or take a few minutes, and it took him at least thirty to walk. Of course, he'd missed the cross-town bus that had left shortly after school let out at two-forty, detention having skewed his entire plan. He set his jaw, and began to trudge angrily through the snow, his toes quickly going numb.

 

 

 

 

As he began the trek, he tried to think of a way he could explain the situation to his father in an unassuming way, so that the man would maybe, possible, hopefully see how much circumstances were working against him.

 

 

 

 

`Okay, Inuyasha, just, as soon as you get through the door, explain yourself. Just start talking, and…' He sighed, fighting the urge to scream his frustration to the heavens. `It's hopeless. Fucking hopeless. He's gonna fucking kill me…' His brows lowered dangerously and he adjusted his arms in their uncomfortable position. The awkward hold he had on the books coupled with the bitter cold had him quickly losing the circulation in his fingers.

 

 

 

 

And so he stewed, cursing the entire day and everyone involved. He cursed the bookstore woman, who took so long, and therefore caused the detention for the next day; he cursed the man watching them in detention who had given him the second detention; he cursed the janitor, who wouldn't allow him entry into the building to put his books away so that his arms wouldn't be going numb, and therefore, forcing him to carry the bulky monstrosities all the way home, only to have to bring them back the next day to stow in his locker. And finally, he cursed Mr. Akuran, who was the reason the entire day had went to shit in the first place.

 

 

 

 

He cursed Daisuke High School, as it was the place that was going to get the crap kicked out of him when he got home; he cursed Asahara High School for kicking him out, and therefore, forcing him to attend Daisuke, leading him to the current predicament. He thrice-cursed Kouga Nishi, as that nuisance and his cronies had been the reason for all his troubles at Asahara that led to his getting kicked out, and the inevitable transfer to Daisuke.

 

 

 

 

So busy was he cursing every nameable entity he could think of, that he didn't notice the insistent rev of the engine of the car he was passing behind. And because he didn't notice the engine revving, he didn't notice the tsunami of gray slush that was suddenly launched in his direction from the energetic spin of the rear tires. Not until he and his stack of precious books were completely drenched in the toxic mix of old snow and miscellaneous pollution from the gutters of Tokyo did he become aware of anything outside of his own festering thoughts.

 

 

 

He came to an abrupt halt as the slush hit him full force, almost knocking him sideways as large chunks of the stuff sliding down his shirts, and soaking him to the bone. The toxic cocktail was dripping from the edge of his hood, his face, and his eyelashes, as his entire left side had been exposed. So surprised was he by the mind-numbing force of the cold slush that he had dropped the stack of books that he'd grappled for. Right into the gutter, and therefore, into more slush.

 

 

 

 

He blew a puff of air through tightened lips, spraying a mist of slush away from his mouth. He didn't move. He could only stare at the stack off books that was slowly soaking up moisture from the pool they were lying in. His jaw clenched so tightly, he could almost feel his teeth crack from the pressure.

 

 

 

 

“Uh-oh…Yuki, I think I'm going to have to call you back…”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's notes:

 

 

You know what to do! Review!

 

 

Oh, and has anyone ever noticed how everyone's name in this series ends with a vowel? Inuyasha, Miroku, Sango, Kagura…and the list goes on….I just noticed that….

 

Anyway, digital points to anyone who can figure out who the teacher is!